


Defiant, Dazzling and Deadly- Daena the Defiant (SI)

by Eboniska



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Self-Insert
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-02
Updated: 2017-09-02
Packaged: 2018-12-22 22:10:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11976057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eboniska/pseuds/Eboniska
Summary: Alien space batted into the mother of Daemon Blackfyre. Tormented Freddy Krueger style by a distant ancestor. Tasked with saving the dragons. What would you do?This is what I'd do.





	1. Chapter 1: Oh Sweet God('s?) No!

**150 AC King’s Landing**

“Daena!” A joyful voice exclaimed.

Whipping my head around I stared at the direction of the voice. The speaker, a young boy with silver blond hair was barreling down the grassy slope toward me.

A few things immediately became apparent to me, as a sudden whirlwind of memories smacked me in the face. Blurry images at first that became clearer as they continued, images of a life that was not my own. Three things immediately became apparent:

1.) I was not myself. The last memory I had before “waking up” here, was me curling up in a cocoon of blankets, exhausted after a long day at school and drifting into the land of dreams.

2.) I was a child, if the height of the speaker that was still running at me was any indication, as I had to look up at him, to meet his eyes from my height.

3.) He had called me by a name that was not my own.

The name… oh sweet heaven (heaven’s?) above did he just call me Daena?

Am I in a dream?

As I stood there rooted to the spot horrified by the revelation that I had somehow been alien-space-batted into A Song of Ice and Fire. The silver haired boy crashed into me, sending both of us tumbling down the slope. The shock of having the breath knocked from my body was mitigated by the fact that I was in the body of the one and only Daena Targaryen, the Defiant, mother of Daemon Blackfyre whose line had given the Targaryen Dynasty headaches with their attempts to gain the Iron Throne.

Eventually the slope petered off and the tangle of limbs that was me and the boy, who I hesitantly dubbed to as Daeron, the Young Dragon (because I sincerely doubted that Baelor roll down hills if his personality is how A Wiki of Ice and Fire described it. Nor was he Aegon “the unworthy” because I imagined he would be more thickset and Aemon “the Dragonknight” was too little), slowly came to a stop. He was on top of me, his hands planted on either side of my head and my worst fears were confirmed that he was undeniably of Targaryen descent due to his lilac irises. The hands that supported his body were pressed into the wild silver-gold mane that was my hair. The slight twinge of pain that I could feel from the stress that the hairs were under more than proved to me that I was in fact experiencing reality.

As the full weight of the situation bared down on me I did the one thing that I was able to do.

I screamed bloody murder.

Daeron reared back as if I had just ordered a dragon to dracarys his ass, scrambling back from me and crying out, “Daena, Daena what’s wrong?!”

I scrabbled back away from him, not stopping until my back hit a thick trunk of a tree. Splaying myself against it I watch numbly as more faces appear on the ridge that we had rolled down from, drawn by the sound of my scream. As they began to run down the slope towards us, darkness claimed me.

 

 

~

 

 

She sat bolt upright, the sudden movement sending Dark sister, which has been lying beside her clattering off the altar. She swung her head around from side to side.

“No…” she muttered as she held her slender fingered hands up to her face.

“No…no… NO!”

At the sound of her shout the door at the end of the room opened, and two figures rushed in. Her siblings skidded to a stop when they saw the scene before them. The dragon-glass altar with High-Valyrian burned into the sides and top by dragon-fire. The large vial of purified dragon-blood, emptied. The great mass of Vhagar, lazing around in the room, cocooning the altar.

But most of all they saw their sister sitting on said altar screaming at her hands.

At the intrusion the she-dragon raised her head, one molten golden eye opening. Seeing that it was her mistresses brother-husband and sister, she let out a huff of hot air and laid her head back down, closing the eye and going back to sleep.

“What are you doing ‘Senya?!” Rhaenys cried as she rushed forward to Visenya’s side sending a golden offering bowl embossed with amethysts that was in her path, flying.

“Get off me!” Visenya protested as her sister began to fuss and she struggled in her sisters’ death-grip of a hug.

Aegon Targaryen, first of his name folded his arms across his chest, his silver eyebrows coming down low over his eyes.

“What is the meaning of this, Visenya?” he questioned, his voice disapproving.

His elder sibling turned her glare from Rhaenys to her brother-husband.

“None of your business,” she spat as she finally managed to pry her younger sister from her person.

Aegon took a step forward.

“I think,” he responded icily, “That it is indeed my business. I am your husband and you have clearly just performed a blood magic ritual, if the empty Dragon-blood vial, the presence of Vhagar, the offering bowl, and the obsidian altar is any indication”.

Visenya had the grace to look slightly ashamed.

But only for a moment.

Lifting her chin, as she swings her legs over the side of the altar and planting her feet on the floor, she faced her husband.

“I was doing what was necessary for the stability and legacy of a house,” she declared as she picked up Dark Sister and sheathed it in the scabbard strapped to her hip.

Aegon face-palmed.

Rhaenys’ expression morphed into one of someone who was suffering from a bout of constipation.

“How well,” Aegon articulated slowly, “did it go the two times you tried it?”

Visenya’s face fell. Her chin dropped to her chest and she shuffled her feet. If Aegon had told anyone that the powerful Dragon Queen was capable of looking like a child who had been caught with a hand in the cookie jar, he knew he would have been laughed out of the room. But that description was the most fitting for Visenya at that moment.

“Not… fantastic,” she admitted, deflating slightly.

“You managed to get yourself killed as an infant when you were in the mind of the Queen that Never was because the Septon’s were convinced that you were a demon. When you were in the mind of Rhaenyra, you got yourself killed early on in the Dance because you decided that Syrax could win out against Vhagar because in your true life, you rode that Dragon,” he deadpanned, “I think I would class those incidents as abject failure rather than ‘not fantastic’, to quote your words,” he finished shaking his head.

Visenya shook her head. “That’s not the issue!” she argued, her voice rising in pitch, “The issue at hand is that someone else is in Daena’s mind!”

“What?!” shrieked Rhaenys.

Aegon did not say a word.

Instead he strode over and grabbed Visenya by her forearm and dragged her to the door.

“Let go!” she exclaimed, as she attempted to remove his fingers from her upper arm, “Where are you taking me?!”

Aegon didn’t even glance at his elder sister wife as he dragged Visenya past the opened door. “You are going to explain to the fourteen how you have disobeyed their direct commands to _not intervene with the timeline_ ,” he told her, and shut his ears to all of the threats and complaints that would not doubt be thrown his way.

 

~

 

Thrust.

Parry.

Overhead.

Parry.

Backhand.

“Enough!”

Aegon lowered his blunted practice blade, but still kept his guard up until Aemon dropped his matching blade down.

“Aemon!” Richard Byrch, the Master-at-Arms of the Red Keep shouted, from where he stood, observing the fight from a respectable distance, “Never drop your blade, EVEN once the bout is over!”

Aemon nodded, his face flushing with embarrassment at being called out on such an amateur mistake. Aegon rolled his eyes at his brother’s folly, causing a poisoned look to be sent his way from Aemon.

“Mi’lords!”

The three of them turned to see a young maid, around four and ten, face flushed, chest heaving from exertion. Once she had caught her breath she continued.

“The Princess Daena has fainted!”

Aegon’s eyes widened.

“Is she ok?!” he asked as he began to move toward her.

“She’s unconscious mi’lord,” she responded to his inquiry with a nervous voice.

Aegon pushed past her and began to Daena’s rooms.

“Wait for me Aeg!” Aemon shouted, but Aegon didn’t acknowledge him as he raced through the Red Keeps halls until he reached Daena’s apartments. Shoving past the startled guards he threw the door open.

The sight that greeted him was one that made his heart twist in his chest. His little cousin was laid out on the bed, eyes closed, face as white as a sheet. The Queen, his Lady Aunt was kneeling beside the bed, holding one of her daughters’ hands in her own. She glanced up, her face furious but softening as she saw him standing there.

“Aegon,” she choked out, “The Maester said she will wake soon… but he has no explanation for what happened!”

Aegon crossed the room and took Daena’s free hand in his own, frantically looking at her face, for any change, but found none.

“Is there anything that we can do?” he whispered.

As Aemon, who he had left behind him entered the room, Daena’s back arched and she began to thrash, clutching his hand, her nails digging into his hand to the point that they bit his skin, drawing blood. The Queen shrieked for a Maester, and a serving girl who had been standing in the shadow of the room, rushed out to follow the panicked order.

Daenaera and Aegon immediately began to try to calm her. Aegon pressed, gently on his cousins’ shoulders to keep her down and was surprised when Daena was somehow able to continue to move despite the pressure he was applying was more than enough to prevent her from moving. Eventually, the combined efforts of the Queen, Aemon and himself was able to keep her still.

The Maester rushed in and the Queen explained in a trembling voice what had happened.

“Let go of her,” he demanded and reluctantly on Aegons part they did.

As soon as they did she began to convulse, she opened her mouth and let out a scream.

“NO!”

It was a noise that chilled him to the bone.

It was sound unlike a child’s voice at all.

It was the voice of a young woman, and it was filled with rage.


	2. Chapter 2: You've got to be KIDDING me!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is unbeta'd. If anyone would be interested in being my beta PM me!

Aegons grip was iron on her arm. His face was stone cold, immovable. No matter how hard she tugged, no matter how many threats she made, no matter her begging, her husband continued to drag her forward. Realising that she was unable to persuade him from his course of action, she racked her brain in order to present a compelling argument to the Council of Fourteen for her actions. However, none of the points she could think of was anything new from what she had said the last time.

Despite her fearsome reputation, the Dragon Queen was afraid.

She finally was before the familiar white marble doors and it was then that Aegon finally released his hold on her forearm.

“You dug this hole Visenya,” he finally said, turning to her, “You have to fill it in”.

The disappointment in his eyes made her shrink into herself.

Once again, she had disappointed him.

_Rhaenys would never have done this,_ whispers the nasty little voice in the back of her head.

She shook her head to clear it, ignoring Aegon’s puzzled glance.

He would never understand.

Finally, the large door was opened, groaning on its hinges.

Aegon stepped back, leaving her to face the Council alone.

 

“Visenya Targaryen,” Daenys the Dreamer announced her to the rest of the gathered 14.

Taking a deep breath, she strode into the hallway, staring straight ahead and pulling her shoulders back. Once she had reached the centre of the room, she knelt before the Council of 14, her head bowed.

“You have defied us, once again,” she accused her, her eyes hard.

Visenya raised her head.

“Because you refuse to do anything to change the events that lead to the downfall of our bloodline!” she exploded, glaring around the room.

Daenys stood up, sending her chair clattering.

“It is not up to you to make these decisions!” she shouts at Visenya, her eyes blazing with a fire that Visenya didn’t know she was capable of displaying.

However, she was not going to allow her to get away with that.

“You never do anything! You just sit here and talk about what you MIGHT do but never actually follow through!” she shouted.

Daenys locked eyes with Visenya and didn’t back down.

“You should be very careful, Targaryen,” she spat, “We have the capabilities to take away your gifts if we so desire.”

“As for your point about “never doing anything” we did do something,” she continued.

Visenya rolled her eyes both at the threat and at the words.

“And what masterful thing did you accomplish,” she drawled.

The Dreamer didn’t even blink, but her lip twitched slightly before smoothing out into her usual neutral expression.

“We were the ones that caused your spell to fail”

 

~

 

I open my eyes.

For one glorious minute I think that I’m in my bed.

That I’m home.

That I’m safe.

That I don’t have to go through this bullshit.

That this is just one horrible dream.

My heart drops when I see the obsidian black stone above me.

Well shit.

Sitting up one thing that becomes immediately aware to me is that I’m in my original body, the second being that it’s absolutely freezing. The third thing is that I’m in a hallway. A long hallway with alcoves carved into the wall, 3 stacked on top of each other and running the length of the wall. Statues, reminiscent of those of Ancient Rome and Greece are housed in each. Every three alcoves, a dragon head, with lava pouring from its opened maw serve to light the hallway. Seeing no other realistic option, I begin to make my way down the hall.

As I walk I begin to hear voices. Soft, at first but steadily growing louder as I get closer. Eventually I can see that the hallway, which I was beginning to believe never ended, did in fact end. An absurdly large door adorned with white marble and gold lettering in a language I couldn’t read. Eventually I’m left standing directly in front of it. I stop right before it, my certainty fading as I hear the words that the voices say.

“And how in the Seven hells and in the name of the 14 is this supposed to save the Targaryen Dynasty from destruction!”

It was a woman’s voice. Harsh and unyielding like Valyrian steel.

“Do calm yourself Visenya. We must welcome our guest.”

I nearly shit myself when the door begins to move, groaning under its own weight as it opens. The sight that greats me send my jaw dropping to the floor.

If the scale of the hallway had been ridiculous this was outright insanity. At least two Saint Peters basilicas stacked on top of each other, the decorated room was magnificent and awe inspiring. As I craned my head upwards I could see the multitude of carvings in ceiling and the circular walls, all with a common theme.

Dragons.

Dragons everywhere.

My gawking of the room was interrupted by the same voice which had alerted this ‘Visenya’ to my presence.

“I do beg your pardon, my dear. Please. Come forward.”

Shutting my mouth with an audible ‘clop’, which echoes through the room, I tear my eyes away from the carvings and focus on the speaker. It was a woman, with classic Targaryen features of silver blond hair and violet eyes. Her dress was similar to how I imagined the likes of Ancient Roman women dressed. Despite the sweetness of her tone there was a certain authority underlying her words that made me believe that her request was an order. Mechanically, I moved my legs forward and further into the room. It was then that I realized that there were more than two people in the room. I counted, excluding this ‘Visenya’ and the Ancient Roman women there were 12 in total. All of them clearly came from different time periods as their dress marked them to be from different eras. Some of them were older, their lined features hard, some of them were young with their bright eyes fixed pointedly on the scene that was playing out before them. Seven were men and seven were women.

14 people.

14...

14!

Everything suddenly was pieced together. This was Valyria. The Ancient Romanesque clothes, the dragon imagery, the ridiculous scale of the architecture and the Targaryen look. I mentally slapped myself that I didn’t realise it before. I shake my head to clear it and I focus on the situation at hand and desperately force myself to accept the insanity and move on.

It didn’t work.

“This?! This… thing is who you put your faith in to save the dragons!?,” Visenya screeched.

As I look at her I realise that this wasn’t just _a_ Visenya.

This was _the_ Visenya.

Queen Visenya Targaryen, sister wife of Aegon the Conqueror, rider of the she-dragon Vhagar, the mother of Maegor the Cruel and the architect of Kings Landing. She looked identical to the picture of her in a wiki of ice and fire, down to the red and black chainmail, her hair coiled up in rings, her body the one of a warrior with its sharp angles and fine-tuned muscles. She stood there, outrage clear in her facial features her eyes flashing with a passion that made me fear for my life.

“Enough Visenya!”

It was a different voice this time, a man with a pony tail and a powerful build. He glared at Queen Visenya with such ferocity that even the dragon queen seemed to back down slightly but it didn’t stop her from sending a poisoned filled glance my way.

Eventually the romanesque woman decided to draw my attention again.

“Now child. I’m sure you are very confused”.

I stare balefully at her.

“Your joking right,” I deadpan.

She tilts her head her perfect thin eyebrows coming down over her violet eyes.

“JUST CONFUSED!?” The voice that came from my body was at the embarrassing pitch of a prepubescent boy. But I wasn’t done yet. “You expect me to just be CONFUSED! I have been magically teleported into the brain of Daena FUCKING Targaryen who screwed over the Targaryen Dynasty by fucking her cousin who was arguably one of the WORST KINGS OF THE DYNASTY. That kid from that affair proceeded to attempt to claim the FUCKING IRON THRONE WEAKENING THE TARGARYENS TO THE POINT THAT THEY WERE OVERTHROWN. Why on whatever Gods exist in this fucked up universe did this happen to ME. What the hell did I do to deserve this!?”

There was a dead silence in the room for what most likely a second but felt like a bloody era.

“It’s because you were never meant to be here”.

I turned and faced Visenya. She sounded resigned, the wind out of her sails.

I snort.

“That much was bloody obvious. Why don’t you tell something I don’t know?”

That was probably the wrong thing to say.

The Dragon Queen who was probably about 50 metres away from me began to storm towards me, her hand falling to the grip of the sword at her side.

Ohshit.jpg

I forgot about Dark Sister.

“You should have more respect for me you little- “, she spat at me as she advanced forward, drawing the blade from its scabbard.

She was cut off as the Romanesque woman stood up, and the seven males of the fourteen drew their swords.

“Enough Visenya!”

One of the men rushed forward with long strides and intercepted the raging queen, wrapping his thick arms around her body, lifting her up and preventing her from coming any closer to where I was standing. A hand on my shoulder pulled be backwards, away from her.

“Do you expect me to just take that insult Daenys!”

Daenys?

Oh.

Daenys the Dreamer.

That would make sense I suppose.

Daenys, seeing that Visenya was suitably subdued turned her attention to me.

“Your anger and fear is understandable but there is nothing we can do to send you home. I’m sorry but due to,” here she glanced over at the enraged Visenya, “Visenya’s rash actions it is now up to you to do what she set out to do”.

“And what did she set out to do?” I ask narrowing my eyes at Daenys.

“To save the last of Old Valyria.” Daenys stated simply.

Oh hell no.

“You just expect me to help you?”

Visenya let out a bitter laugh.

“You should be honoured!”

“What a great honour it is indeed. To fix your mistakes.”

I turn to Daenys.

“Send. Me. Home. I am too young to deal with this bullshit!”

Daenys bowed her head.

“Westeros is your home now”

Before I could say anything, the person who had pulled me back clapped one hand over her mouth.

“Visenya,” Daenys sighed, “You are responsible for this. You will train Daena in the ways of our blood, everything that she will need to do to change the future.”

Then she turned to me.

“Daena, it would be the best for you if you forget the life you have known. It will make it… easier in time.”

Fuck that.

But I didn’t get to say anything more as my vision darkened.

As I opened my eyes for the third damned time I prayed to the alien space bat that I was back home.

A rich velvet canopy hung above my head covered in Targaryen dragons.

No such luck.

 

I let out a sigh.

 

“Of course that was all a dream!”


	3. Chapter 3: Meet the Family

“Your grace, you’re awake!”

I turn my head to the side to see a middle aged man who had a chain around his neck.

Must be a Maester.

I sigh.

“Yes. How long was I out?”

The Maester who I assume is the Grand Maester frowns slightly, his eyebrows swooping down over his eyes. 

“How long were you out?”  
I snort.

“How long was I unconscious for?”

The confusion in his face clears as I rephrase my question.

“Three days Princess,” he responds.

“It’s always three days,” I mutter under my breath.

The Maester frowns.

“What was that Princess?”

“Nothing!”

Just as the words come out of my mouth the door flies open and a young woman rushes in. In her late twenties to early thirties, decked out in a gown with jewels sewn into the bodice, in the shape of a Targaryen dragon. 

Daenaera Velaryon.

“Daena!” the Queen shrieks as she throws herself toward me her arms opened up as she practically throws herself onto my bed and clambers toward me her hands pulling me toward her, into her breast. 

“Can’t. Breathe. Mother. Please. Let. Go,” I gasp as I struggle in her rib crushing hug. 

Hearing my breathless plea for release my Mother (no! Daena’s mother! NOT mine!) loosens her grip enough so I can take in a breath. 

“I was so worried about you! We all were,” she cries still clutching desperately to me. 

Just as she says this I hear more footsteps. Looking over Daenaera’s shoulder I see a man who I recognize instantly, as he is wearing black clothes, a gold dragon necklace and a plain gold band that sat on his brow. 

Aegon III (also known as the Dragonbane) 

He was followed by man shorter and frailer than him with a prominent nose, bushy eyebrows and a stern demeanour. 

Viserys II (currently the Hand of the King. The true ruler of Westeros). 

The brothers continue into the room until they are standing at the foot of my bed. 

“I’m glad to see that you are awake Daena,” Daena’s father intoned his voice sullen and monotone. 

“Thank you for thinking of me, your grace,” I whisper. 

His frown deepens at my words.

“I’m your Father child, you may address me as such.”

I nod, almost unconsciously. 

“Of course Father.”

The Daena part of me was over the moon that the Father that she had worshiped with an absolute fanaticism had allowed her to call him the one thing that she had wished to do for what felt for her like forever. I, however, could hardly imagine having to call my Father by any other name than ‘Dad’. 

Uncle Viserys (Viserys II! Not Uncle! I have Uncles!) moves forward and lays a hand on my mother’s shoulder. 

“Perhaps it would be best to let Deana rest- “

Whatever he was about to say was cut off by a childish shriek of delight. Two silver blond blurs burst into the room and throw themselves onto my bed. 

“You’re awake Daena!” shrieked Daeron.

“Sis! Sis! Sis!” chanted Rhaena. 

I wondered where Baelor was... then remembered he was a religious fanatic.

Praying most likely, I think cynically. 

Soon after they had made their presences known three more people come into by bedroom.

The first was a tall teenager, robust and a far cry from what he would become if my presence didn’t completely screw with the timeline of events.

Aegon IV (The Unworthy), the Father of my child.

Well, I think to myself, At least I now know that I will never let him stick ANYTHING into me.

The second was a younger boy, lean and bright eyed, his hand naturally migrating to the sword that rested at his hip.

Aemon the Dragonknight, Lord Commander of the Kingsguard.

The third and final person was a mere slip of a girl, delicate bones and features, a silver blond haired child on her hip.

Naerys Targaryen, the long-suffering wife and Queen of Aegon IV.

Out of all the people that came rushing to my side it wasn’t the one I expected. 

Cousin Aegon rushed to my bedside, sitting on the bed and taking my hand. 

“I’m so pleased that your well, cousin,” he exclaimed as he ran his fingers over the back of my small hand. 

Daenaera smiled at Aegon Jr, as she squeezed my shoulders. 

“Aegon kept vigil at your bedside, when you were ill,” she reveals.

My absolute confusion was interrupted when Naerys walked forward and sat down on my bed, putting Elaena on the bedspread. She gently reached out and took my hand in hers.

“I’m so pleased that you are awake, cousin,” she murmured in a soft voice, “I lit candles for you in the Sept.”

“Thank you Naerys,” I responded, patting her hand with my free hand, “It was truly the Seven’s will that I’m conscious and well.”

I realised that was probably sophisticated for a five-year-old but it was too late for me to take my words back.

Aegon and Viserys looked a bit surprised and confused at my words. Aegon looked concerned and Aemon curious. Naerys looked surprised but soon a smile lit up her face.

“That it is!” she exclaimed, “How about we go pray together then?” she offered.

“No”

Before I can even respond the Grand Maester cut in. 

“I’m sorry Princess, but Daena needs to rest,” he replied gently.

He looked at my Father.

“It’s best that the Princess rests for now,” he continues, “She’s had enough excitement for today, it would be best if we leave her to rest now.”

Father nodded and came to my bedside, leaning over to press a kiss on my forehead. 

“Sleep well child,” he mummers to me, “Let us leave Daena to rest.”

Immediately, everyone moved towards the exit, Viserys and Aemon leaving first, Naerys picking up Elaena again and proceeded to herd Daeron and Rhaena out of the room. Father took his leave as well, his shoulders bowed slightly, murmuring the Grand Maester. 

Daenaera pulled back from me and pressed a kiss on my cheek.  
“Sleep well Sweeting,” she whispered as she pulled away from me.

Gracefully she stood up and moved towards the door and just before she left she turned back.

“Sweet dreams Daena.”

Then she was gone.

Aegon, who was still sitting beside me pressed a kiss to the back of my hand and then my palm. Unbidden a memory of Daena’s arise in my mind.

~

“Aegon!”

Daena, laughing, rushed towards her cousin and hugging his knees. Resting her chin on his knees she looked up at her cousin, as she smiled up at him.

“Daena!” he responded in the same tone, as he lifted her up, so that she was sitting on his hip. 

“Kiss my hand!” she demanded imperiously, holding out her hand, palm down.

Snickering, Aegon did as she bid but quickly turning around and pressing his lips to her palm as well. 

Shrieking, she wipes her hand on his tunic, struggling in his grip. 

“That’s GROSS Aegon!”

The Prince laughs at her disgust and grabs her hand.

“It’s our secret handshake Daena,” he whispered, causing the little Princess to freeze and stop her struggling as she heard the words.

“Secret Handshake?” 

He nodded seriously, his eyes bright.

“It’s the greeting that we will do every time we see each other, that only WE do,” he explained.

“Just us?” she questioned.

“Just us,” he confirmed.

~

As the memory washes over me, I smile sleepily, which he returns.

He then leans over and presses his lips against my forehead. 

“Sleep well little cuz,” he mummers his voice low.

Aegon then stands up and moves to the door.

He turns back and smiles once again.

He shuts the door behind him.

I laid down and stared at the canopy once more.

That could have been worse.

~

Scritch

“Well,” snorted a voice, “You’ve finally decided to (Scritch) grace me with your presence.”

Scritch

Sitting bolt upright I stare at the direction of the voice.

“Oh fuck”

Sitting before me, running a sharpening stone down the blade of Dark Sister was Visenya fucking Targaryen. She wasn’t wearing the ring-mail that she had been the first time that we had been introduced. Instead she was in black leather armour, with a red silk shirt and breeches underneath it. To top it all off she wore black knee high boots. 

“Should I wash your foul mouth out with soap?” she asked drily raising one sharp eyebrow upwards.

“I feel it coming out my throat/ Guess I better wash my mouth out with soap/ God I wish I never spoke/ Now I gotta wash my mouth out with soap,” I sang as a wave of homesickness and realization of the situation crashed down on me. 

The raised eyebrow raised even higher.

“Don’t ask,” I warn her as I stand up as I brush off my pants, “Just don’t”.

Once again she snorted.

“No matter.”

I frowned at her.

“What are you doing here anyway?” I snap at her, “Why am I not even allowed some goddamn sleep?”

She stood up, sheathing the sword and she began to pace.

“Are you so dim-witted that you weren’t even listening during the council of the Fourteen?”

I frown.

“Of course I was listening but what has this got to do you showing up in the one time I can get some peace and quiet?!”

The Dragon Queen rolled her eyes and stalked towards me. I took a few steps back to keep a sizable distance between us but she continued to close the gap.

“Due to the… accident… that led you to be here, the Fourteen have decided that as I was the cause of said accident I must make sure that you don’t screw everything up even further,” she growled her eyes flashing with the fire she had shown last time.

“I’m going to make you a warrior. I’m going to teach you everything I know about sorcerer. I’m going to show you how to birth, tame and care for a dragon. I will MAKE you a dragon. Not because I want to. Because I have to. Because the 14 have willed it.”

I fold my arms across my chest and wish that I wasn’t five years old, so that I didn’t have to crane my neck up to look her in the face.

“Why should I listen to you,” I spit back, “You have treated me with nothing but absolute contempt.”

Suddenly she was upon me grabbing me by the shirtfront and lifting me upwards. I grip her hands and try to move them away but fail miserably. 

“Listen to me you little bitch,” yowled her eyes blazing with fury, “If you don’t heed my advice and lessons you will die before you even reach ten years of age!”

The rage I felt at the unfairness of it all flared in my belly.

So I did a stupid thing.

I bit her. 

As I tasted the metallic taste of blood I continued to sink my teeth in, despite her attempts to remove me until my I scrapped bone.   
I saw stars as Visenya backhanded me across the face, sending my head snapping to the side.

She then threw me down, the power of her throw sending me flying. I don’t even get a chance to stick my hands on to break my fall and I land on my front, my face smacking into the dirt. 

Then I woke up.


	4. Chapter 4: How to Helicopter Parent 101: A guide by Daenaera Velaryon

I sit up.

Oh Good Lord not a good idea!

My head spins and I nearly fall back into the feather pillows.

However, I force myself to slip out of bed, the wooziness causes me to drop to my hands and knees as my head aches. Once it dies down enough, I drag myself to my feet and make my way over to the mirror.

Uh oh.

It wasn’t just the fact that I was a child, with the wrong coloured hair and eyes. It wasn’t just the fact that I was in George R. R Martians fucked up universe.

A bluish purple handprint is printed on my cheek, made all the more obvious by the paleness of Daena’s (my?) skin.

Oh Shit.

I need to hide that.

How the hell am I going to explain _that_?

My panic is interrupted by a knock on the door.

“Milady?”

Uh oh.

“Just a minute!” I shriek.

Frantically I look around.

Nothing.

“Milady are you alright?!”

“I’m FINE!”

I rush into the large wardrobe and scrabble through everything. Finding a black scarf, I wrap it around my head, like a headband, pulling it forward enough to cover the majority of the bruise. It would have to do for now at least.

“Come in!”

The door of my bedchamber is opened and a young woman curtsies as she enters the room. Plain featured with hazel brown eyes and medium-light brown hair her dress indicates that she must be a lady of some sort.

“Princess, your Mother has requested that you break your fast with her,” she addressed me formally, as behind her some chamber maids who Daena recognised as Mina and Lila bustle into the room with purpose. Mina goes to the bed and prepares to make it and Lila comes towards me, taking me to the wardrobe.

“Let’s get you dressed my lady,” she added once the lady-in-waiting had finished speaking.

After having my hair braided, and tied into a contraption known as gown (in black of course) I was ready to go. The maid reached for the scarf and in a panic I slapped her hand away.

“Leave it!”

“Oh... of course milady,” she mumbled.

“Sorry! Just don’t touch it ok?”

“Very well milady”

We proceeded down a dizzying number of hallways which wasn’t helpful because my head was already aching from when Visenya had thrown me (none too gently) on the ground. Eventually, (gods I have a short attention span (not surprising considering that I was five years old, but still)) we arrived before a large door, a dragon embossed on it.

The Lady in waiting who had collected me knocked on the door and almost immediately it was opened by a member of the Kingsguard, not sure which one and not caring either.

Sitting on a chaise lounge (I don’t know the westeroi name for it don’t sue me) was my Mother the Queen of Westeros. She had exchanged her Targaryen coloured gown for an aqua gown with white adornments, a testament to her Velaryon heritage. Before me was a table laden with foods that I personally wouldn’t consider to be breakfast food but it was sugar filled so I wasn’t complaining. I realise that it would be high time that I curtsied.

“Good Morning Mother,” I articulated as I curtsied, “I hope that you slept well?”

Her face, which had lit up at the sight of me betrayed a look of confusion before it was gone again, replaced by her usual warm smile.  
  
“Come here my girl, enough of that!,” she exclaimed patting the place beside her, “I made sure that we had all your favourite foods.”

As I took my place beside her she wrapped an arm around my shoulders she leaned in conspiratorially.

“Don’t tell your Father,” she stage-whispered, “I don’t think he would approve of you having sweets so early, but what doesn’t know won’t hurt him”.

She tilted her head to one side.

“You won’t tell him… will you?” she inquired.

I vigorously shook my head back and forward.

“Your secret is safe with me Mama,” I promised as I reached for a lemon cake. I wanted to see if they were as good as Sansa believed.

As I bit into the cake with the sour lemon sentence balanced out with the sugar dusting, it was absolute perfection. I closed my eyes. I needed to ensure that I could enjoy the little things in life, otherwise I knew I would go mad.

“You usually don’t like lemon cakes,” Daenaera commented offhandedly as she picked up a raspberry pastry.

Uh oh.

“I decided that I’d taste it again Mother- “I trail off as I go through Daena’s memories, “Daeron has been bugging me lately to try them again and I thought this would be as good a time as any”.

She smiled.

“Of course it would be Daeron. You’re both inseparable.”

I nodded. Before I was dropped into her mind, Daena followed Daeron around like a lost puppy. It was something I intended to but maybe to a lesser degree.

I needed to curry favour with my other relatives after all.

She smirked.

“You like him don’t you?” she teased her lip twitching upwards.

“No!” I exclaimed.

She shook her head, still smiling.

“Very well then,” she smirked but there was a playful glint in her eye.

“Stop it Mother!”

She laughed.

“Alright I’ll keep my suspicions to myself,” she snickered.

I rolled my eyes.

And reached for another lemon cake.

Don’t look at me like that! They were just BEGGING to be eaten!

Suddenly, my Mother frowns.

“What’s with this scarf”

Uh oh.

“Um… I just felt like- “

“What’s this bruise?!” she shrieked as she pulled the scarf off from my face.

Fuck.

Her face paled as she saw the rest of the bruise, the handprint from Visenya’s hand was now revealed to her. Her lips pressed together in a thin line.

“Who. Hit. You,” she growled her eyes narrowing.

“Um… um…”

I had absolutely nothing.

Absolutely fucking nothing.

She stood up abruptly sending some of the dishes crashing on the floor. Scooping me up in her arms, ignoring the hand maidens who rushed into the room at the sound of the crashes. I couldn’t see anything from where I was pressed into her chest. Immobilized all I could do was sit and wait until she had taken me wherever she wished to take me.

Suddenly she stopped.

“Announce me,” she demanded.

I twist my head around and see another Kingsguard standing in front of a door.

“Your Grace I don’t think- “

“Announce me!” she demanded again.

“Your grace- “

Shoving past the guard she threw the door open herself.

As she had been unannounced the people present jerked in surprise at my Mothers intrusion.

Oh Shit.

It was the small council.

Really Mother?

Really?

Goddamn you Visenya Targaryen.

~

 


End file.
